


From Far Away

by kayisdreaming



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst and Feels, Crimson Flower Route, M/M, Post-Timeskip | War Phase (Fire Emblem: Three Houses), Pre-Timeskip relationship, black eagle felix, blue lion sylvain
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-09
Updated: 2020-05-09
Packaged: 2021-03-02 23:28:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,218
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24085120
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kayisdreaming/pseuds/kayisdreaming
Summary: Felix had looked away. Couldn't even look Sylvain in the eyes. 'I'm going to join Edelgard. And . . . I want you to come with me.'Sylvain could barely fathom that it came out of Felix's mouth, let alone that it was potentially serious.It had to be a joke--he was certain. Except Felix never joked.Years later, on the Tailtean Plains, Sylvain remembered those days. Remembered when things were easier, when Felix was still there beside him. Now though, it's inevitable that one of them will die as enemies. It's anyone's guess which one.
Relationships: Felix Hugo Fraldarius/Sylvain Jose Gautier
Kudos: 17





	From Far Away

Blood and gore dripped from the Lance of Ruin in heavy clumps, the tip so soiled that it was hard to imagine it being anything but crimson. In theory it must have been, at some point. Before the scores of people Sylvain had killed for Dimitri, the bodies behind him mangled and unidentifiable.

It should bother him. It used to. He used to try and think of ways to improve the situation, to avoid a fight altogether. But, as the war went on, he realized that it was a fool's dream. All there was was war. And the only path out required death: either his enemies or his. Eventually, he knew he would join them in the flames.

And burning was inevitable. He was no longer that boy he had once been: careless and nonchalant, lazy when it came to training and fighting. Roaming around like nothing in the world really mattered. Now, he couldn't hide himself behind smiles and flirtations--not without it being tainted. Not without it being so blatantly obvious that he was becoming as cold and heartless as his brother was.

The image flashed in his mind. Of that beast, dripping with dark ooze. Of its snarls and roars, piercing in its agony. Thrashing out at everything and everyone, seeing all as an enemy. With no trace of his humanity left. No sign that it had ever been there in the first place.

The Lance thrummed in his hand. Would he become a monster like that?

It wouldn't be hard to be the same man his brother was, not really. It was doubtful that there was anything in the way. Sure, Sylvain had some flirtation and the bluster on the surface, but deep below there was still the same anger, violence, and resentment that had defined his brother's character. He couldn't deny that the same thing had also warped him, too. And no matter how much he tried to hide it, the truth was still there.

So what was keeping him from becoming a beast?

_'Miklan was always a monster'_. Felix had told him, when Sylvain was--like an idiot--mourning a brother who had always loathed him. ' _He just became that on the outside, too.'_

_'Yeah, but--'_

_'You're not like him.'_

Sylvain let out a sigh, letting the memory of Felix's voice resonate in his mind. He could practically feel his back pressed against Sylvain's, just the contact silencing the thoughts buzzing in his mind. Felix had been so nonchalant back then. He acted like he was just there for himself (' _Sit here and be useful--the Boar is fouling up the Training Grounds_ _'_ ), just finding a decent place to sharpen his blade. Like Sylvain couldn't tell that he was glaring daggers at anyone who even tried to come close to them in the Knight's Hall. Sylvain hadn't called him out on it--he didn't want to be seen, didn't want anyone to know that he couldn't even manage a smile. Felix was . . . safe.

A yell broke him from his thoughts. An Adrestian soldier. Young, inexperienced, reckless. It hardly took a strike with the Lance to rip the soldier in two. He watched as the remnants collapsed, joining the other stains on the floor.

It wasn't the time to space out. Doing so would just get him killed.

. . . Then again, their deaths had been almost guaranteed. Fighting now was little more than a formality. An open defiance against the whims of destiny.

Rhea had withdrawn from the battlefield, letting the Kingdom army die for her escape. Abandoning those who had protected her, supported her. Sure, perhaps her presence had prevented an easy charge up the eastern side, leaving Sylvain with nothing but some remnants, but it hadn't been enough to actually stop Edelgard.

Across the field, Dedue had become the primary target of the Adrestian forces. The reasoning was obvious: Dedue was no longer Dedue. He was physically there, sure, but in the form of a beast. Giant and monstrous and far too powerful. Far worse than anything they had ever fought against. Mortifying to see.

But his domination was only temporary. Dedue, mighty though he may be in this form, was losing. How could he stand a chance against the Sword of the Creator? He was slower than she was, and--if he couldn't land a blow--then he didn't stand a chance. Like everyone else, he was merely a distraction, a delay of the inevitable.

Which mean that, after the initial surprise, Dedue couldn't stop the other advancing units. One charged at Ingrid--archers, of _course_. The other went straight for Dimitri.

There was a sickening crunch as his lance sunk into a man's skull. If he had his horse, he could feasibly navigate the terrain--cut off the advance at Dimitri. But he had left it on the outskirts of the battlefield, concerned that the mud would make it too difficult to move effectively. There was no point getting both of them killed, after all, not without good reason.

And, while he could run on foot, there was no guarantee that Dedue wouldn't lash out at him. Perhaps the Professor could dodge those attacks, but Sylvain certainly couldn't. He would get hit, and the entire endeavor would be pointless.

Besides, the numbers against him were enough to keep him busy. Not a challenge--Seiros forbid he die challenged--but a distraction. A group obviously meant to stall him so he couldn't disrupt the Professor's plans. Not that he was sure he actually _could_ stop her, not without getting slaughtered in the process.

But he was going to die here, wasn't he? The King was unstable, focused too much on the goal and not those lost in the process. The Kingdom would not survive under that. And the Leicester Alliance had been a potential ally--a meager chance for survival--but Edelgard had completely annihilated them. And their last hope to balance the scales, the Knights of Seiros, had just abandoned them.

With a shaky exhale, he ran a bloodied gauntlet through his hair. At one point, it would have been repulsive that the blood on his armor was more than capable of keeping the long strands of his hair pushed back. Now, it was a moderate convenience. Besides, his whole face was practically covered in other people's blood, anyway.

_Fuck_ , he was going to die. Die fighting for a cause he didn't believe in, just because he was _ordered_ to.

Sure, it was always inevitable that he was going to die young. Ideally, though, he would have died for Felix.

For that cute little scowl he had whenever Sylvain said anything stupid. For the way he made those mean little comments, poking insults at whatever Sylvain did, though Sylvain was damn good at translating them. For the way he was always training (goddess, he always looked so beautiful when he was training), saying he was only doing it to get stronger when Sylvain knew exactly _why_. For that little quirk on his lips when he would practically snatch Sylvain mid-step and kiss him breathless in an empty hall.

Yeah, he would have died miserable deaths a million times over for that. But it had been more than five years since then. There was no guarantee that even _was_ the same Felix anymore.

  
  


' _Edelgard is pulling students away from the school.'_ Felix had said, his head resting in Sylvain's lap. _'I imagine she'll attack soon.'_

Sylvain fingers ran through Felix's hair, pleased that it was at least being tolerated. Less pleased at this conversation. ' _What'll you do?'_ He'd asked.

Felix's eyes flicked up to Sylvain's. The look on his face had been terrifying. Sylvain had originally thought it idle chatter--now it was obvious that Felix was actually _considering_ it. ' _What she says . . . makes sense.'_ He had muttered. ' _And I trust the Professor's judgment.'_

' _Felix, that's not an answer.'_

Felix had looked away. Couldn't even look Sylvain in the eyes. _'I'm going to join her. And . . . I want you to come with me.'_

Sylvain's hand had frozen, his stomach dropping. He felt ill. He could barely fathom that it came out of Felix's mouth, let alone that it was potentially serious.

It had to be a joke--he was certain. Except Felix never joked.

Felix had propped himself up, hands on either side of Sylvain's hips. His face was close, so close. ' _You hate the Crest system as much as she does.'_

Sylvain had closed his eyes, swallowing hard. He knew Felix was right. Even Sylvain had read the manifesto, and he had agreed, for the most part. _'You couldn't care less.'_

' _It makes more sense than what we're doing now. What are we even fighting for?'_

_'We can't just abandon everyone!'_ Sylvain bit down hard on his tongue to tame his temper. He understood what Felix meant--he really did--but he couldn't justify it. He couldn't just pretend that he'd be okay with that. ' _What about Ingrid? Dimitri?_ _Annette!?'_

Felix scowled, shifting to sit back on his heels. Pulling himself away from Sylvain. ' _There will be a war soon. And I can't--I won't--serve the Boar.'_

Sylvain opened his mouth, but he had nothing he could possibly say. It was true: Dimitri was a little unstable--more than expected considering it was just another land's ruler who defected. And Felix's relationship with the prince was strained at best. Plus there was the fact that Felix _probably_ resented the thought of another Fraldaius dying for Dimitri.

Displeased, Felix removed himself from Sylvain's bed with a grunt. He deftly avoided Sylvain's hand as he reached out for him. The scowl should have been indication enough.

Sylvain could only watch as Felix stepped to the door, tying his hair back up. There was nothing he could say to make this right. Nothing that wouldn't be a blatant lie.

' _The offer is still open, Sylvain_.' Felix muttered, opening the door. ' _For your sake, I hope you choose not to be a complete fool.'_

Sylvain didn't join Edelgard. He thought that, perhaps, sense would return to Felix. And, even if it didn't, there might be something in his blood to compel him to stay. He thought they'd be side-by-side when her attack finally came.

But, when Edelgard attacked, Felix was standing there behind her.

  
  


Even now, it stung that Felix hated Dimitri more than he loved Sylvain.

A shout bellowed behind Sylvain, snapping him back to attention. With no time to think, he acted on instinct, the Lance's sickening energy resonating in his hand as he spun around and thrust it as hard as he possibly could. Anything else would only lead to his death.

He let himself exhale as he felt it hit, true and deep.

And then he froze.

He knew that face. It didn't matter how much the rest had changed, how many years it had been. He could never, _ever_ forget that face.

" _Felix_." The name slid from his lips in barely a whisper. It felt like he was being strangled.

Felix didn't respond. Instead, he looked to the blade piercing his abdomen. It had gone clear through, just off the side of his spine. Already, blood was soaking through his clothing. His sword fell from his hand.

Slowly, Felix's gaze followed the shaft up to Sylvain's face. Those gorgeous amber eyes scanned over his expression. And then he had the gall to _smile_.

"Ha, look at that." Felix rasped. "You actually started training."

With a grunt, Felix's hand wrapped around the shaft. To Sylvain's horror, he stepped back. Anything stemmed by the Lance's presence was loosed--his coat now more red than teal. And, without the Lance to support his weight, Felix collapsed.

Sylvain didn't think. He dropped the Lance like it was no more than a twig, falling to his knees at Felix's side. He scrambled to shift Felix into his lap, pressing his hand against the wound. Then both hands. But the blood soaked into his gloves, seeping between his fingers.

Panic stuck in his throat. He should have learned magic--even the most rudimentary faith magic could--no, that wouldn't help now. Oh, maybe he could use one of his medics nearby. He could convince them that Felix was a prisoner and--no, they had all already fallen hours ago. Maybe he could--

Felix's hand settled on top of Sylvain's. He couldn't even tell what color Felix's gloves originally were. But, even past the fabric, Sylvain could feel the slight tremble.

Felix's breath was shaky. "I'd hoped it was you."

Sylvain choked down a sob, or tried to. It was a complete failure."You _bastard_." His voice cracked. "You were supposed to kill me."

Felix's lip twitched. "You were too slow."

Sylvain let out a miserable sniffle. "You're on the winning side."

Felix coughed, the sound wet and painful. "I didn't want to win."

"You . . . what?"

"Mm." Felix's gaze shifted to somewhere far off. "I . . . stopped believing in that a long time ago."

Knowing it was pointless to stop the flow, Sylvain reached one of his trembling hands up to Felix's hair. Slowly, gently, he brushed through it. It wasn't quite as soft as he would like--the blood already sticky--but the sentiment was there all the same. "You could have come home."

Felix barked a laugh, the sound immediately dissolving into harsh and rapid coughs.

Sylvain grimaced. It wasn't right to argue with a dying man. Especially one that was right.

"Sylvain." Felix muttered, once the coughs had died down. His voice was weaker now, energy draining by the second. "I'm sorry I can't keep my promise."

Sylvain leaned down, pressing a soft kiss to Felix's forehead. "It's alright." He whispered. His eyes flicked up to the approaching figure. "I'll be joining you soon."

  
  


_**[A beat reverberates, and with it, time reforms.]** _

  
  


A shout bellowed behind Sylvain, snapping him back to attention. With no time to think, he acted on instinct, the Lance's sickening energy resonating in his hand as he spun around as he thrust it with as much energy and as hard as he possibly could. Anything else would only lead to his death.

But it didn't hit.

Metal clanked against the Lance--swift and rapid--and--to his horror--the Sword of the Creator wrapped around the blade. The force was powerful, but it only took _seeing_ the thing to realize. The Professor yanked it down _hard_ , the sharp whip clearly intending to disarm him.

With a grunt, he moved his weapon in time with hers,. It gave him just the leverage to get the Lance out of her grasp. Just enough so he could jump back the moment he was free. It wasn't enough distance to get away, but it was enough to put some space between them.

To be frank, she looked like shit. No doubt exhausted from her fight with Dedue, and from her command of the battlefield. She was practically covered in blood, panting as she caught her breath. But, even at her worst, she was still a master-class swordsman. She could probably wipe the floor with him without even breaking a sweat. And he was far from his best state, too.

Technically, he should have a tactical advantage against the sword. He had the reach as an advantage. . . in an abstract sense. Against someone of _her_ caliber, well, it would take some intelligence and a lot of luck.

His eyes fell upon Felix, standing just behind her, and immediately he realized that his luck had run out.

Well, it wasn’t like he was planning on surviving today, anyway. He flashed the most charming smile he could muster.

But that was all he had the time for. The Professor charged, swings rapid and powerful. He barely had the time to register each strike, swinging his Lance about as best he could. There was no way to slide in an attack, no opportunity to take advantage of. With every strike, she forced him another step backward.

It was chilling, how ferocious she was. And how she could bear so much force behind such a cold expression. Like they hadn’t had tea together on numerous occasions, like she hadn’t tried almost monthly to recruit him. Like he was just another faceless soldier in the way.

He could keep up, but he knew that was temporary. Every strike chipped away at his endurance. Made his strength weaker, his limbs less cooperative. Every blow made his reaction time that much slower. His mind flicked through a dozen scenarios—how to strike, how to escape, _anything_. But even his brain was starting to lose its focus.

And then, for it was inevitable, he screwed up. His parry was sloppy, allowing her enough time to duck under his attack. He over-compensated in response, which knocked him off balance. His entire side was left wide open.

Like in slow motion, he could see her raise her blade. It was obvious that it could pierce through his armor—as if there was anything that could stop a Crest weapon—and so very clear that she knew it. Her eyes flicked to the spot most vulnerable. It wouldn’t be a quick death, and it would be painful, but it wouldn’t matter in the end.

And then she staggered, the entire flow of her movement shattered.

Sylvain blinked, everything sliding back into focus.

She had stopped entirely, body nearly frozen. She looked back over her shoulder, eyes wide and lips pressed tight. She brought her hand up to her chest. Between her fingers was the slender metal of a very sharp blade.

As Felix withdrew his sword, she collapsed to the floor. Her breathing was shallow, difficult. Eyebrows knitted together as she focused. But slowly her expression turned—and for the first time he actually saw genuine emotion on her face: fear. She glanced up at Sylvain once more.

And then she crumpled entirely.

Realizing only now that he had been holding his breath, Sylvain slowly let out an exhale. It made his lungs ache, though not nearly as bad as the pain radiating in every muscle. Even his arm ached to the point where he was certain that he would drop the Lance at any moment.

But he couldn’t, not when there was still one more against him.

Slowly, he let his gaze rise from the Professor’s body to Felix. From his boots to his coat, the whole getup seemed entirely impractical. Perhaps he had justified it by its sheer mobility. But with hardly any armor aside from thin wool and leather, there was absolutely nothing to prevent him from getting skewered. He looked more like an Eastern noble afraid of the Faerghus snow than a swordsman in the middle of war.

But it _was_ rather flattering to his form.

He cleared his throat, letting his eyes wander a bit higher. Certainly, Felix had grown into his features. His face had turned a bit sharper, but not in an unflattering way. And his hair was shorter—considerably so, judging by the ponytail. What a shame.

But those eyes hadn’t changed. They were still the same amber and—and sizing Sylvain up. Taking his time with it. Which would have been flattering if it weren’t for the fact that the scowl hadn’t shifted in the slightest.

Sylvain lowered his Lance. He cleared his throat, hoping that he didn't still sound like he was desperate for air.

He offered a crooked smile. “You know, I kind of figured you’d grow up sexy,” he said, enjoying the way Felix’s nose scrunched up, “but my imagination had nothing on the real deal.”

Felix’s glare was more prominent, but he made no move to separate Sylvain's head from his neck. Instead, he sheathed his blade and snorted. “Looks like you’re still an idiot.”

It was as if he had a boulder sitting on his chest for years and finally, _finally_ it had been rolled off. He laughed, sounding a little more insanely desperate than he had hoped. “Guilty.”

Felix huffed in response, probably about as close to a laugh as he could manage. He turned his head, eyeing the battlefield. Looking away from an enemy--a really stupid move. Then again, enemies didn't kill to save their enemies.

So _was_ Sylvain his enemy?

"Not that I'm complaining," Sylvain chuckled, the sound weak and pathetic, "but I don't understand."

Felix didn't shift his gaze, eyes narrowing as he looked just north of them. Toward the mound of fur spread out on a ruin made of stone. "You always were slow."

"Not an answer."

It was then that Felix's gaze flicked over to Sylvain, expression deadly serious. There was really no guarantee that he still wouldn't strike the redhead down. "I didn't feel like dying today." He looked down to the body on the ground. "And I never said I'd die for her."

Sylvain gaped. Felix didn't have to say the words for him to know. To think, that past war, betrayal, and years of separation . . . their promise still lingered. For Sylvain it was inevitable, guaranteed. For it to be the same with Felix, though . . .

"We should go." Felix said, lips pressed together.

That sent a jolt through Sylvain's spine. He knew the others had fallen, he could see it with a quick glance--the furs were unmistakable, Dedue's body was vanishing among the dark remnants of the beast, and feathers fanned across the northern field like the aftermath of a falcon against a dove. Without their generals, it was certain that the Kingdom army would soon be decimated, if it hadn't been already.

But still. "Felix, I--I can't. I can't follow Edelgard. I can't fight for what she stands for."

"I don't want you to."

Across from him, Felix's arms were crossed. He stared at Sylvain, eyes searching. Maybe for a sign that Sylvain would change his mind, or attack. Maybe trying to see how loyal Sylvain would be. A challenge, or a test maybe.

Except Felix was never manipulative. Not in the same way that Sylvain could be.

"I'm tired of this war." Felix continued. He licked his lips, fingers clenching hard in his sleeves. "If you're anything like you used to be, you are, too."

Sylvain gaped. He wasn't the man he used to be, that much was true. He was desensitized to the blood and agony and death. But still he didn't revel in it. He took no joy in killing, and could find no purpose in fighting. There was no positive outcome from this, no bright future for people like him to thrive in. So he had fought because he _had_ to. Because there was no other choice.

Felix stepped closer, the movement careful, but not overtly anxious. As if he knew it would only take a moment for Sylvain to grab his spear and strike. And, despite his judgment--or perhaps in spite of it--he took another step. He reached out a hand. "Come with me."

Sylvain's fist clenched and unclenched. He wanted to. So _desperately_ he wanted to. "What would we do?" He muttered, closing the gap by another step.

Felix shrugged. "We can become mercenaries. Go to Dagda, Sreng, Almyra--I don't _care._ "

And there it was: _I don't care, if I'm with you_.

Sylvain bridged the gap immediately, taking Felix's hand and using it to pull him into a hug. He wrapped his arms around the shorter man (had he even _grown_ since they were teens?) fingers digging into the fabric. His cheek pressed against Felix's hair, enjoying the sensation of Felix's breath against his collarbone. He'd _missed_ this. He must have dreamed about it a thousand times, but nothing was like the reality.

He could very reasonably get stabbed. With the way Felix tensed, it seemed inevitable. It wouldn't surprise him if he had knives hidden. A little dagger would probably do the trick. But it didn't matter. Sylvain would be completely okay with it.

But he didn't get stabbed. Instead, Felix's fingers ran up along Sylvain's armor, arms wrapping around him just above his hips. Sylvain could feel the sigh against his skin. "Your armor is stupid."

Sylvain huffed a laugh. "Says the guy not wearing any."

Felix hummed, and abruptly pulled away. "We need to go." He said, tone returning back to it's overly serious state. He scowled back at the battlefield. "She'll regroup soon."

"Ah, yeah," Sylvain grimaced, "pretty sure she's gonna notice her tactician's missing."

Felix hummed in agreement. "We need to get as far away as possible."

Nodding, Sylvain whistled. It would draw attention, sure, but they would be far out of the way with his horse. And if she was dead, well, it wasn't like they could get far enough away in time to begin with.

The familiar sound of hooves made him sigh in relief. His most reliable companion trotted up to him, nosing at his shoulder. Far outside of the battle, she had been well rested. He could ride for the rest of the day and they'd be okay.

Settling himself behind Felix on the saddle, they galloped away from the bloodshed, the death, and their pasts. It didn't matter what was left behind.

The world could be on fire but, so long he had Felix by his side, he didn't care.

**Author's Note:**

> As a mild explanation: basically Byleth used her last divine pulse to spare Felix and (like me) rationed them poorly so she couldn't reset Felix killing her. Since she's dead, too, there's no way Edelgard's going to win, and Rhea's pretty much lost her mind. So a complete collapse of the whole system.   
> ...But at least the boys are together. 
> 
> As always, come bother me on Twitter [@kayisdreaming ](https://twitter.com/kayisdreaming)  
> 


End file.
